My First Visit
Originally published December 17, 2009 in
The
Chronicle
Prior to moving to Iowa I had visited a total of four
times in my life, and three visits were within a year of my move. The
first time I made the trip to Iowa was at the age of 14 in the summer
after my eighth grade year. At that time I had no inkling that I would
reside here one day, but Iowa left me with some first impressions and
lasting memories.
My mother, younger brother, and I took a trip to visit
my great-aunt and great-uncle on their farm near Manson. It was my first
time on a farm, and I was excited to visit my grandmother’s only sister.
My grandmother had passed away the year before; we were each others’
“favorites” and I was holding her hand when she died. At 14 I was still
more girl than teen, with my dark freckles, crooked teeth, and 10
year-old brother in tow.
I remember driving from the Des Moines airport for what
seemed like five hours and seeing only one thing out the window: corn.
When we arrived at the farm, we went upstairs in the old farmhouse to
the rooms where we would stay. I remember it was beautiful but a little
creepy for some reason. My brother, Jon, and I had really never stayed
in a house that was more than thirty years old.
I hadn’t started high school yet and I had my little
brother as a playmate, and play we did! I remember spending a lot of
time in the barn feeding the sheep handfuls of grain and imitating their
bleats. Jon and I also counted and named about 30 barn cats and asked my
Aunt Sally why they weren’t allowed in the house. Another special memory
was feeding a young calf with a giant baby bottle. Jon especially bonded
with the friendly old herding dog, Sam.
I learned a lot on that trip as well. My Uncle Virgil
showed us around the farm and explained little things to us like how the
electric fence kept the cattle in. Virgil told us the inner workings of
conveyers, elevators, and tractors. We were told not to play in the
cornfields – and we listened. I’m sure I asked lots of questions about
my grandparents and about “the old days.” My mom let us run loose with
the video camera, so Jon and I made an informative mini-documentary
about all our new knowledge.
I left Iowa thinking about the differences from
California. I didn’t like summer rain, but I loved that the mailbox was
down the lane a quarter mile from the house. Some of the large equipment
scared me, but I was fascinated by the livestock. It was strange to
think there were prairies – land that hadn’t been plowed was unheard of
in my hometown.
Years ago the land was sold and my Aunt Sally now lives
in town, but that old farm will always be part of my family in my
memory.
Being Green in Iowa
Originally published December 10, 2009 in
The
Chronicle
When I lived in Southern California, it was
increasingly popular to “be green.” For some, being environmentally
conscious was more of a trend than a lifestyle. It became hip to drive a
hybrid vehicle, eat expensive organic produce, and buy recycled paper
goods. This fad quickly turned into an easy marketing approach for
retailers of all kinds of products. To be honest, it wasn’t a bandwagon
that I cared to hop on. But by moving to Iowa I have learned how easy
and important it is to take care of our resources.
I enjoy watching the wind turbines as part of the Iowan
landscape. I consider them a healthier and more attractive counterpart
to the nuclear generating station I used to drive by in San Onofre,
California. The turbines got me thinking about how a state that is
sparsely populated has more visible production of renewable energy than
a state with dense populations consuming massive amounts of energy. To
me, the ethanol plants are another example of this.
Back in Orange County, the front door of my condo was
about sixty feet from a dumpster, where I could easily discard anything
and everything I didn’t want. Our complex did not have recycling
services and I did not have a garage to store recyclables, so I threw
bottles and cans right into that dumpster. One of the most exciting
things about moving to an acreage was the amount of storage space in the
form of a bigger house, a basement, and outbuildings. It is now easy to
sort and store plastic, glass, and aluminum. Without any trash pickup, I
have also found myself saving things that won’t burn for future use,
especially containers of all kinds.
Another way I have become “greener” in Iowa is by
heating my house with a corn stove. In the land of corn it only makes
sense to use it rather than propane when possible. In addition, since
being on rural water means reading one’s own water meter, I have been
paying more attention to my water consumption than when I just received
a monthly bill from the city.
There were many changes brought about by my move that I
eagerly anticipated, but I never realized caring for the environment
would be one of them. Instead of doing so in a way that may be expensive
and fashionable, I’m developing some earth-conscious habits out of both
need and convenience.
Ready for Winter?
Originally published December 3, 2009 in
The
Chronicle
When I meet someone and he or she learns I
am from California, I know where the conversation is headed. Folks here
want to know if I have experienced cold and snow. Some people get
serious and explain what I am “in for,” that I will hate the winter, and
it will be 80 degrees below zero with all human life close to death.
Others laugh at the novelty of my lack of cold weather experience and
tell me what I must do or buy – some joking and some serious. I cringe
when I think about my dwindling bank account and all the “needs” Iowans
list for me: “you need to carry snow pants and boots in your car,” “you
need a snow blower to clear your walk,” “you need a tractor to clear
your lane,” or “you need a snowmobile for when you can’t even clear your
lane.”
Working in an office with thirty people lends itself to
continuous winter-themed conversations. At some point I was tired of
hearing about all the “needs” and I said to some coworkers, “If you’re
going to tell me all the things I need, you might as well buy them for
me!” My intent was to curb the incessant stream of advice and warnings,
but the result was something completely unexpected.
A couple weeks ago, before breaking for lunch at an
all-office meeting, a few of my coworkers began piling boxes and gift
bags on a conference room table. The next day was our boss’s birthday
and I figured our celebration committee had used some funds to buy gifts
for her. To my complete shock, the table full of goodies was actually
for me.
It seems my officemates had sent emails without my
knowledge about making a winter survival kit for the newest employee,
the newest Iowan. That day I was overwhelmed by the generosity of people
who had only known me for a few months. As I opened packages and
demonstrated the items for everyone’s amusement, I just couldn’t believe
my eyes.
I got everything, from games and things for baking to
clothes and survival supplies. Some of the highlights were handmade
scarves, a blaze-orange face mask, ice scrapers, lock deicer, hand
warmers, a fleece robe, and even an ear of corn with my last name in it.
If I were to list all the supplies and goodies it would fill an entire
newspaper column.
That day I was in complete shock, humbled once again by
the kindness I have experienced from the people of Iowa. I now have an
excellent winter weather vehicle survival kit as well as some warm
clothes and nifty gadgets. The best gift of all was having a good laugh
about my own winter naivety with people who clearly care so much about
me and each other. To my friends at Prairie Lakes AEA, I can’t thank you
enough!
My First Harvest
Originally published November 19, 2009 in
The
Chronicle
From the time I was born I lived in a city of 65,000 people that
boomed to 120,000 residents by the time I was in high school. Since then
the population has exploded to over 212,000. This southern Californian
land was developed by sheep ranchers and had a rich history of
agriculture including olive, avocado, and citrus orchards as well as
lima beans and strawberries.
Growing up in the heart of Orange County meant living in planned
residential communities neighboring acres of orange groves. As a child I
loved looking at the groves as we drove by, I loved the smell of orange
blossoms at night, and I was told scary stories of what happened to the
kids who played in the orchards. Beyond that, most families were far
removed from the actual business of farming that was left to migrant
workers.
The strawberry fields did not have the same intrigue, but they would
fill with migrant labor during the picking season. We could buy
strawberries from field side stands but for some reason usually bought
them at the grocery store. I remember one year when it rained and
strawberries flooded the streets – amazing and devastating at the same
time.
For someone who should have basic agricultural knowledge, I don’t.
The orange trees were burned years ago when city residents were told
they were no longer producing – but coincidentally or not, at a time
when land prices for tract homes were on the rise. Agriculture no longer
drives Orange County and it hasn’t for a long time.
Upon moving to Sac County I was immediately immersed in the culture
and industry of agriculture. Surrounded by farms and farmers, it is
clear how farming is ingrained into daily life for the kids who grow up
here. I’ve been eagerly anticipating “my first harvest” since I moved
here.
The most exciting thing about this harvest season has been the
equipment. This week I got to experience harvest first-hand when the
biggest New Iowan fan gave me my first-ever combine ride! I figured it
would be fun, but I didn’t realize it would be amazing. As I rode
through the corn field I got to learn how everything worked in a modern
machine. Although I am getting a late start on my agricultural
education, I loved watching the corn getting sucked up and stripped off
in an instant. I thought about how strange it was for me to be having my
first ride when so many children grow up along side farm equipment. Then
again, those same children won’t grow up smelling orange blossoms and
growing lemons, limes, and strawberries in their backyards.
THANKS FOR THE RIDE, HOPE TO DO IT AGAIN NEXT YEAR!
Too Much Nature
Originally published November 12, 2009 in
The
Chronicle
This past weekend started out wonderfully. On Saturday I made honey
wheat bread from scratch and on Sunday morning I awoke to the sun
shining. My husband noticed the dogs were barking at a large buck
resting in some tall grass. After rounding up the dogs, I enjoyed
watching the buck for awhile, thinking about how nice it was to live in
the country after leaving a suburb of over 130,000 people.
As I went on with my day, the buck stuck around. I kept the dogs
inside but my wire-haired terrier stayed close to the window. After the
buck left, I let the dogs out. A few minutes later they were barking at
a large hunting dog that was on the scent of the deer. Not wanting a new
member of their pack, the dogs chased the third dog away through a field
to the west. I put the dogs inside for awhile to avoid more barking.
Later that afternoon, the buck and the hunting dog were nowhere to be
seen so I let my dogs out. I regretted this decision when the dogs ran
off barking and I saw the buck rise to his feet. I yelled for the dogs
to come. I got bits of hot dog to entice them back to the house. I set
off my truck horn remotely. Nothing worked, and the dogs were now in a
barking standoff with a large buck who did not look pleased. I was out
of ideas, and worried that I would have to deal with dead or injured
animals in a few moments. I started text messaging an Iowan friend who
confirmed what I already knew: “Unfortunately, dogs learn the hard way!”
I got in my truck and drove up the lane at the buck-dog battle. As I
drove closer, I honked and revved my engine. The buck looked at me but
did not care that my vehicle was 20 feet away. I could see slobber
swinging from his mouth as he lowered his head at the dogs lunging at
him. The buck tried to leave, but my terrier started running laps around
him and he couldn’t, though he was five times her size. He fluffed up
his tail and started to lunge back at the dogs. Finally I gave up, and
drove down the lane to park.
That maneuver triggered my dogs’ “she’s home” response and they
started to come towards me. I had the hot dog bits and lured the dogs
over after a few attempts. I grabbed the little dog and threw him in the
truck, then got the terrier by her collar and took her in the house.
Throughout this 25 minute ordeal, the buck stood his ground and never
left!
After getting the little dog inside, I laughed at my city girl self
as my heart raced. When the buck finally departed, I thought that had
been enough nature for one day! To my surprise, the hunting dog returned
– two hunting dogs this time! My dogs had enough energy left to bark at
them through the window while I, on the other hand, was too tired to
care.
Making the Transition
Originally published November 5, 2009 in The
Chronicle
I imagine any move across state lines is a big change, but I
don’t think there are two more opposite regions than Southern
California and rural Iowa. It feels as though every moment of
the day my mind is occupied by learning something new, seeing
something new, or meeting someone new.
There are countless little differences in the way daily life
happens for me here. Where I grew up, I knew the roads so well
that I could drive from one place to another without taking in
any of the surroundings, sometimes arriving at my destination
wondering if I had even paid attention to what I was doing along
the way. Here in Iowa, everything I see is new, beautiful, and
changing. When I drive to work my eyes are open wide to the
landscape instead of just watching the taillights of the car in
front of me in rush hour Southern California traffic.
It feels like my mind is absorbing new information all day
and more things are different from California than are similar.
Sometimes it’s as though every detail of life has changed with
the flick of a giant light switch, but then I stop for a moment
and remember that I had somewhat of a smoother transition than
that.
At the end of May, I found a renter who wanted to move into
my home in California. The only problems were I had to work
during June and wouldn’t have a home in Iowa until July. My
friends Kathy and Andrew were kind enough to let my husband,
puppy, and me stay in their home in Silverado. Commonly known as
Silverado Canyon, it isn’t like Iowa but it isn’t quite like the
rest of Orange County, California either.
Kathy and Andrew’s house had a septic system and was heated
by propane – two major differences from what is typical for the
west coast. Houses line the steep canyon walls of Silverado, but
some are on an acre of land, which is uncommon in the suburbs of
Los Angeles. Like rural Iowa, Silverado is far enough from the
big cities to be dark and starry at night. Their house has the
character of an older home decorated somewhere between a lodge
and a bed and breakfast – a refreshing contrast to the 1970s
tract homes with designer furnishings I was used to seeing. I
got acquainted with the idea of driving 15 or 20 minutes to the
grocery store or tiny cafe. In the Canyon there are winding
roads but the traffic of the cities is nowhere to be found.
Things are very different for me in Iowa, from the landscape
and foods to the lifestyle and vocabulary. My life has changed
so much that it feels like I’m upside down, or maybe I’m finally
right-side up. When my mind gets full from all that is new, I
can reflect back on the month that I had to ease into a new way
of living.